


Sudden Shower

by Hipsterian



Category: Winner (Band)
Genre: KangPhotographer, M/M, Minho is in trouble, Model AU, a bit heated up because Minho has dirty thought, the solve of his problem becomes a new problem to him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-13 04:17:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16010138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hipsterian/pseuds/Hipsterian
Summary: Minho's show is coming closer and he is in trouble.The solution to his problems, though, soon becomes his inspiration but also another problem.Will he be able to finish his fashion collection in time? Will the rain fall on him like a blessing or will he be left soaked and alone?





	Sudden Shower

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading it!
> 
> I had lots of fun writing it, teasing Minho is one of my favorite things to work on. There are a bit of heated up moments but nothing graphic or explicit.
> 
> As usual, English is not my native tongue, so sorry for all the mistakes you will find out! If you want to point them out to me, it will help me improve my skills!  
> Kuddos and comments are more than welcome, but feel free to throw tomatoes at me if you dislike this story - I would do that to myself if only I could, so it's ok.
> 
> Anyway, enough talking!   
> Thanks again and I hope you will enjoy it! Have a lovely day ahead!

He wasn’t exactly expecting this kind of help when he called Seungyoon to ask for a favor. He wasn’t looking for a bunch of giggles coming from his best friend, entangled in his boyfriend’s arms or for been stuck waiting for someone who he doesn’t know to come in – that unpunctual person who has turned out to be the help he was looking for and that will save his sorrow self from the place he has put himself into.

He sighs and looks around: there is nothing for him to do but to wait – and avoid the honey like couple that is cuddling behind the desk where he has all the drapery and fabrics he uses when tailoring, the patterns and the designs for the clothes he makes and that lay, all crumpled, on the stuffed surface. He double checks the clock again; two minutes past the accorded time and Minho taps his foot, fast, against the wooden floor, agitated. It’s not like he knows what punctuality means, at all; he is the epitome of lateness, most of the time he survives thanks to his sister – he has an enormous among of lame excuses no one has ever believed in, but he still tells them, trying to convince him that it isn’t as bad as it seems. But he loathes waiting, he is terrible at it and the fact that this is a favor he has asked for is what breaks his nerves, what makes him jumps in swirls of impatience and hums, discouraged. Seunghoon peeks at him, curiously, smirking at him as if knowing the reason behind his behavior – and he does, of course, he does.

“Don’t worry, if hyung said that he will come, he will. It’s not like him to be late, though” he says, leaving for a second Seungyoon’s embrace to come closer to Minho, reassuring him with his pitch voice and his soft eyes, wrinkled in a smile that holds all the promises in the world – he breathes into it and lets Seunghoon’s sympathy settle in -. “He might be lost” he states and, just like this, he walks gracefully to the door and peeps out, his head turning left to right and straight to the front to the alley where his workplace stands, cloudy and dark and lonely, the industrial feeling inside was that one thing convincing Minho to settle his atelier in such an uncommon place; he shakes his head once he comes back inside, frowning a bit – Seungyoon runs to him as if missed deathly.

The thing is that Minho is running out of time – as always, the closing date for the runway show is around the corner and he is frightened, he is so scared and worried about the showcase he has to perform at: basically, he is paralyzed; he hasn’t done a thing yet, none of a single designs he needs to – he has been poorly excusing himself with “I don’t know his sides, I don’t know his style” but he knows well enough that he could have asked Seunghoon or anyone else in the model’s agency they work for, honestly; but there is a bit of truth in that blatant lie: he needs to know his model in order to be able to tailor the attire for the exhibit, make it accordingly to the features, style and other considerations (colors, details, patterns) of those who are going to wear his apparels; Minho is very meticulous when it comes to creating his designs and makes sure that everything is beyond perfect.

He has been invited to a fashion show for start-up designers just like him (and it is important because, above all, it will be his first) – he is not going to be portrayed next to big names like Hermes or Versace or Gucci, obviously, but it is a beginning; his beginning – and, for that, he requires someone to wear his designs and catwalk in front of the public. That was the main and only reason why he has dialed Seungyoon because he is a photographer, he knows a lot of professionals in the industry – Seunghoon being one of them and the first one to pop in his mind when the offer was handed to him a week ago. Evidently he has accepted gracefully and Minho is eternally thankful towards him, even when he was the one who built up his relationship with Seungyoon (he had encouraged the younger one when he first told him, years ago, that he was falling in love with one of the models he was working on for Vogue’s autumn issue; they had had other assignments together before so they already knew each other (both recognized names in the fashion industry) and it was back then that Seungyoon’s feelings began but they bloomed fully, beautifully, during that specific photo session, with Seunghoon modeling under the falling leaves in a picturesque street in Japan: Minho doesn’t know the concrete details and he isn’t interested in them (he has heard more than needed); he only wants them to be happy together and for him to be the best man at their not imminent but sure thing wedding  as well as a bunch of favors Seungyoon can’t say no to – after all, he owes him that much.

Minho’s fingers buried in his soft, pinkish hair, shakily, breathing in puffs, agitated, his chest swaying up and down, nonrhythmic.  He is getting anxious and it has only been less than ten minutes – but waiting has never been Minho’s thing, he is impatient and seeing his friends snuggling at his face isn't helping to calm down his nerves.

When the door is finally opened, Minho’s eyes laid on the figure emerging from the shadows that are cast around; the sun is settling down and the street is dark and cold, trapped in between buildings that compete to reach the sky, covering the road and his atelier in clouds of black and somber light but he brings the sun with him, smiling slowly, shyly, beautifully.

He is ten minutes and a lifetime late for Minho and his heart trembles taken aback by the alluring presence that this man carries whiting him.

“Hyung!” Seunghoon is again rushing, greeting him, gleaming under his light – and he truly shines, once he steps inside and the neon lamp bathes him all and the sight is so pretty that Minho wants to draw it, turning the scene into a masterpiece, embroil it with pastel threads. “You are late,” he says, gently, an arm sliding around this person’s shoulder. Together, pressed against Seunghoon, he looks lost and tiny, a head smaller than Seunghoon and, for a slip second he forgets that his friend is in a relationship; his chest tugging, a pang of something he can’t put into words but that falls under the form of jealousy – from someone whose name is still a mystery, from someone who is captivating, with galaxy hidden in the brown-black of his wide, starring eyes, lips just the colour of spring, glossy and full and so kissable that Minho feels ashamed, appealed to them as if magnetism; soft auburn hair that seems passionate red and blood when highlighted, slim figure that is perfectly balanced. He is, overall, incredibly and Minho feels like blessed. He needs to know his name and his phone number, he needs to know the secret behind his clothes, touch the skin with the tip of his lips.

“I’m sorry” he replies, staring at the floor – and Minho wishes he could become it so his precious orbs would be focused on him instead of the wooden parcel underneath his feet. – “I got lost…” he adds, voice sweet like a song, gently mortified. Seunghoon laugh, but, breaks the spell, awaking Minho from the golden slumber he was about to fall into – but dreaming about him doesn’t sound bad at all. He wants to put a name to that captivating face and, as if reading his thoughts, Seunghoon pronounces it.

It’s a lovely name for a lovely person and Minho should be careful because it has been only two minutes but he is in love – he gets smitten way too often, way too easily, just a smile it’s enough to catch his heart. But this time Jinwoo has knocked him like a lightening – Minho doesn’t care, electrified with his fascinating face and the deepness of his eyes, he is awestruck, he has never seen someone as perfect as him before; he is in love, cheeks flustered and red and Seungyoon smirks in the corner of his vision, knowingly (he knows too much and he is way too annoying when he nags and Minho has the impression that he won’t stop once Jinwoo leaves).

“I’m Minho and I want to say how much I appreciate that you are willing to model for me” Minho extends his hand and Jinwoo’s fits so well inside him - he wants to be fitting for him, too -, his pale palm is a bit cold but the contrast between their skins is precious and the touch of his fingers around his lingers in for a second after ending the handshake and the introduction is over - he misses his touch.

An hour later Minho finds himself staring at Jinwoo shamelessly, who is chatting with Seungyoon animatedly, his soft laugh impregnating the atelier with joy and he has never heard something so beautiful.

“You are so lucky,” Seunghoon sits next to him and contemplates his doing; he is drawing Jinwoo – with the clothes that he will design for him only, kind of doing his assignment, but that doesn’t stop the teasing from his friend, nothing would if Seunghoon has settled his mind on it– “Jinwoo hyung is single. And his last relationship ended years ago, so you know. You are his type, kind of.” He states, winking an eye at him. While he is working, pencils spread everywhere and papers piled up, scissors and rulers and white charcoals cramped over the table, Seunghoon's toying with them, pushing and touching and messing around in all the ways. Minho is torn between feeling complimented or insulted – it’s hard to know with Seunghoon, it might be both.

Working with Jinwoo is easy – it would be easier if they were alone, his friends have tried to embarrass him and succeeding wistfully (they have told Jinwoo about all the times he has been late and blamed his cat, Jhonny; “Do you have a cat too?”, in the end, though, he has to admit that the interruption allowed Minho to know more about him, because Jinwoo only nods and laughs and, as precious as it is, Minho wants to dig into him, get to know him better, to do more than just stare at him mesmerized).

He wants to put his hands on those patches of clear skin, white and dreamy, to feel if it is as cold as it seems from afar, as smooth as the cream it resembles, let his fingers caress the hem of his shirt while he undresses him slowly, relishing into the sight of his exposed flesh, his perfect body all to be seen. He longs to start working with him, ensuring that the golden ratio belongs to him as he thinks it will – and his proportions are nearly as perfect as his long legs covered in tight jeans he wants to rip apart, change them with some of his own creations. He wants to memorize all the contours, all his frame and his precious form gleaming under the distant flash from the fluorescent tube hanging up in the ceiling of his industrial like workshop – brick walls covered with pictures and hangers, clothes ranks spread around, flanking his own designs (trousers and jackets like rainbows, artistically ripped shirts with sleeves long enough to sweep the riveted floor).

At the end of the room Seunghoon yawns and complains at his boyfriend, who is leaning on him, his head on his shoulder, his lips tickling his neck and Minho wishes to have Jinwoo like that, his back pressed against his broad chest, to kiss the top of his shimmering hair. It's too early to call it love, but Minho is totally bewitched and he has no rush for Jinwoo to go, he wants his fingers to wander over the surface of his cheeks, to twist his tongue inside his mouth and make him melt in delight and his head spins at the mere idea longing in his heart only two hours after meeting him - and this is something none of his friends need to know, he will keep it secret because it is scary how fast his feelings are traveling, how desperately and irrevocably he has felt for barely an acquaintance.

That night, when they all have left, he draws, design after design, Kim Jinwoo like a dressing doll in his mind and, when morning graces him, Jhonny’s paws scratching softly his cheek, his face puffy with sleep, they look gorgeous scrambled everywhere over the white page, scattered in black charcoal that is staining his hands, even around the corners, different sizes and forms and ideas that suits the idea of Kim Jinwoo well, all those sketches are about him, hundreds of different outfits and attires delineated; he is inspired, illuminated by his kind words last night when he told him how much he would like to be dressed by him, wear and show his designs to the world because they were beautiful, artistic, and creative – not the dull suits he has to catwalk with for those important haute couture designers or for pictorial magazines. – He wants to create for him the most incredible dress; he turns it into his motto and starts choosing the fabrics, outlining patterns and selecting the most fitting colors for the tone of Jinwoo's skin and eyes, drawing the different layouts in big lumps of manila envelope and copying them again in tissue paper to reproduce the figures over the selected pieces of cloth - there are black silk and maroon velvet, soft, cream linen too already waiting to be cut-, the right dimensions taking forms of the frontal of a shirt, a buttoned sleeve, the long leg of a tight trouser; he detaches the patterns and contemplates them becoming alife when he copies them on the fabrics.

It takes only two days for him to finish his new collection – that will be modeled by Seunghoon and Jinwoo alone and so all the bits he has sewn have to fit them perfectly (he doesn’t care about Seunghoon but he wants to badly  impress Jinwoo that he puts all night and day to finish what he has started before calling him to come to try them).

It’s only the first prototype, a mere draft but if he likes how it looks on them he will start to tailor them, sewing the bits that don’t fit properly, adding the details and stitching all the different parts together definitively – right now they are hanging out only quickly basted in order to ease any change, this is just the first stage.

This time around Jinwoo is the first one to arrive and, without much ado, he undresses in the changing area – a big space covered with a curtain he wants to peek in between to see his body undercover, his back bend while putting off those jeans he hates the most (because they are so fit and tight and revealing, he wants to play with the silk beneath it), his fingers carefully opening his shirt, exposing his chest to his eyes. – When Jinwoo comes out the mannequins where his confections lie are alienated around the white pedestal where he has to stand off, and the impressive beveled mirror taller than Minho is settled in front of it all – and it reflexes the urge and hunger in his eyes, the smirk he puts to cover his desire when he glimpses at him, pale skin and black boxers, his legs are wonders and he has been carved by Gods, he stares at him in awe, amazed and fascinated by such a beautiful creature able to walk in the same space as him, to smile shyly at him, too.

Seunghoon arrives with Seungyoon holding his hand and looking up at him with stars burning in his eyes, the same adoration expression he well knows and that is always on display when he is with his other half; he watches how playfully Seungyoon sneaks into the changing room, following Seunghoon silently – and the sound of hands romancing over exposed skin can be audible heard; Jinwoo’s ears turn red and he looks even more alluring, dazzlingly.

“They do that all the time to tease me” he reassures him, his hand resting for a moment on his shoulder, his fingers pressing his collarbone.

“I’m a professional, as much as I like Seungyoon-ah, I’m not going around making out with him at the first opportunity” he complains, groaning in disbelieve, pushing his boyfriend out, who grins deviant while joining them.

It’s not like Jinwoo needs any help to get dressed but it’s nice to slick his hands over his contours, setting with needles the parts that are too big, marking things that need to be replaced, changed or rearranged. His mouth holds the piercing   pointers and his fingers work endlessly and lazily on the rims and hems, trying different styles, shortening them only to push them back, straightening them worthlessly but it allows him to press his hands against his hips and he should be focused on his work instead of becoming all touchy with his own model – and he should be ashamed of what he is doing, of all the excuses he creates in order to brush his skin once more but he can’t: Jinwoo is precious and he wants to worship him, adore him until he dies.

Seungyoon smirks at him knowingly while taking pictures of them in diverse stages between nudity and being fully dressed up, Minho kneeling in front of Seunghoon seaming the end of the trouser leg. Jokingly Seunghoon starts walking, one leg longer than the other and a shoulder swirling since it hasn’t been properly sewn yet and so it flips, Jinwoo laughing,  clapping his hands with delight and Minho savor at the sight in front of him, enchanted. It’s amazing how his expression relaxes and the light cast shadows on his dimples, his lips curbed up in a beatific smile and his round, soft eyes following Seunghoon across the place, his laughs meddling with Seungyoon’s and his own, creating a harmony out of them, like a song – he wants to record it, immortalizes it forever.

Two days after it Jinwoo is posing for him again, standing quiet and still while Minho orbits around, eying all the corners meticulously, his glasses at the edge of his nose, his hands flying up and down, fingers traveling all over his length, arranging buttons, cutting threats, relocating scarf and others prompts made to highlight his natural beauty. He looks much better than expected, dressed in one of his finest suits; the silk of the shirt skids, showing the skin beneath his shoulder, the open neckline exposes his collarbones up to his upper chest, the black inks in over his flesh and he is like art alive. Jinwoo smiles, impressed, wondering how it would look once finished.

In the week he has spent working with Jinwoo, Minho has found out that he is not only perfectly handsome, with a body that makes his hips roll and his eyes bright with something unreadable – desire and passion, inspiration and love, adoration, – but that he is also a warmhearted person, kind and nice and supportive; encouraging words always ready to leave his lips - and Minho wants to trap them with a kiss. - He knows he is totally under his influx, that he would do anything he asks as long as he can stare at him without being caught – but, sincerely, he doesn’t care if others saw him totally absorbed watching Jinwoo. He worth all the embarrassment and teasing coming from Seunghoon, all the stupid nagging from Seungyoon, even when none of them is impeding his infatuation; on the contrary, they seem to instigate him to move along, to confess to him because both of them are single and look awesome together and Jinwoo is so naive to not see the dark intentions shining deep in Minho's eyes (but whenever Jinwoo talks to him, he is left speechless, words dying on his lips).

With the last touching-up and a swirl of a needle and a threat he finishes the clothes that they will wear for the catwalk in time for once – he stores them in specific bags, hanging them neatly and carefully on the racks he will bring to the show and them ups to six attires for them both. - He won’t see Jinwoo until the next weekend, when the show is due to, and the thought hurts, he misses the taste of his skin on his fingers, the perfume that twirls from his hair to his nostrils and that lulls him at night when he can’t fall asleep, he yearns for his smiles, to hear his voice again telling him how talented he is, what a wonderful work he has done – how eager he is to wear his designs, to model under his firm.

The preparations for the show are over and he waits, his heart pounding, excited; it’s his first time after college and he is anxious. It is still early – he has come to the showroom five hours ahead because he couldn’t stay still in his atelier, pondering about all the things that could go wrong, about all the mistakes on the clothes that could be appreciated by the experts' eyes gathered there to see what they have to offer, to recognize new talents. – He bits his lips and shakes his hands in a vain attempt to tranquilize. He turns around in shock and surprise when he feels him – it’s physical, like a thread pulling him and there he is, smiling at him candidly.

“Everything will go alright,” he says, gently, reassuringly, catching his hands in his ones, fingers twirled around his wrist.  The touch’s cold but sedates his mind, his eyes sorely in his, shining like diamonds. “Your designs are great and Seunghoon and I are so glad and honored to be able to wear them. We will make you proud, promise” he adds, smiling with the possibility of something else. He has never looked better before, with nothing else but a white t-shirt and those loathed jeans. He relishes his lips at the precious view.

Now he is holding his hands and everything turns warm as if touched by the sunshine. His fingers slide up, down his arms, nestling between his shoulder and neck and, out of an impulse, he hugs him, his head against his ribs – hands pressing his nape, brushing his hair and it’s like silk, dark brown and smooth and wonderful, better than a dream. His heart beats loud but this time he doesn’t care because Jinwoo isn’t moving but evolving his waist with his arms, responding to his embrace.

He only needs one word to lose his control, he doesn't need any more encouragement to ravish him senseless here and there, beating every patch and bit of skin, moaning his name until becoming hoarse – and if Jinwoo won’t be able to walk during the catwalk the better, he smirks at the picture of it, his lower side hardening, hot and boiling with him pressed between his arms. He needs to focus, to calm down his overwhelming feelings, his incessant need of him but Jinwoo is still in his embrace and he can't think at all - he can only think about how wonderful his lips would taste like, how would his voice be while wailing his name, his frame all naked and stroked by his hands.

“Later” he whispers into his ear, butterflies tainting his inside, warm luke and promising, his voice as lewd as he feels and he kisses him, pinning his frame between the wall and his body. Jinwoo nips at his lips and his hands fondle his ass strongly, thrusting him closer, clashing alongside him, his knees bending so he can reach his mouth better. “Later” he repeats, a promise of a night under the same sheets, groaning under unfamiliar traces. He can’t wait for it, all his worries about the show replaced by all that he wants to do to Jinwoo, who has come to his life like a sudden shower, bringing back something unexpected, a heart that beats out of tempo with the hint of a name he isn't tired to say and that will become his mantra tonight, repeated with every kiss and messed blankets entangled around their confused limps.

The show goes on smoothly, Jinwoo’s promise fulfilled; his collection is a success and some of the assistants give him credits and attention, congratulating him for his results, for coming up with such incredible attires, so well designed and tailored to the smallest detail, but he finds it difficult to concentrate on them, his mind totally trapped in Jinwoo, who smirks at him, waiting in the dressing room, closed door and the assurance of something more.


End file.
